Poets but as an epoch unto himself—a confluence where romance embraces revolution, and metaphors march in tandem with manifestos.
His verses, like velvet gloves concealing clenched fists, cradle both the ache of unfulfilled love and the incendiary fervour of resistance.
To read Faiz is to stroll through a garden where roses bloom defiantly amidst thorns of tyranny, where the fragrance of longing mingles with the acrid scent of political upheaval and where every word echoes with both longing and liberation.
Born on 13 February 1911 in Sialkot, Punjab—a city that also cradled the philosopher-poet Allama Iqbal—Faiz was immersed early in the confluence of Persian classics, Urdu poetry, and Sufi mysticism.
His father, Sultan Mohammad Khan, was a learned barrister, whose scholarly pursuits sowed seeds of literary curiosity in young Faiz.
A student at Government College, Lahore, Faiz was not merely educated; he was intellectually ignited, diving deep into English literature, Arabic, and philosophy.
Here, he encountered Marxist thought, which later became the ideological scaffolding of his life and poetry.
Yet, Faiz was no cloistered academic.
His heart beat to both the rhythm of ghazals and the drumroll of revolution, echoing the progressive ideals that shaped his enduring literary and political legacy.
Faiz sahab’s poetry defies easy categorisation.
It is neither confined to the amorous laments of classical ghazals nor merely propagandistic slogans of political resistance.
His genius lies in the alchemy of blending both—where verses of love metamorphose into metaphors of revolution, and metaphors of revolution carry the ache of personal longing.
Consider one of his most celebrated poems, "Mujh Se Pehli Si Mohabbat Mere Mehboob Na Maang" (Do Not Ask Me for That Love Again, Beloved):
مجھ سے پہلی سی محبت مرے محبوب نہ مانگ
"Mujh se pehli si mohabbat mere mehboob na maang"
(Do not ask me for that love again, my beloved)
What begins as a conventional romantic ghazal unfurls into a searing commentary on social injustice:
اور بھی دکھ ہیں زمانے میں محبت کے سوا
"Aur bhi dukh hain zamane mein mohabbat ke siwa,"
(There are other sorrows in the world besides love,)
راحتیں اور بھی ہیں وصل کی راحت کے سوا
"Raahatein aur bhi hain wasl ki raahat ke siwa."
(Other joys besides the comfort of union.)
Here, Faiz juxtaposes the intimate with the infinite.
The lover’s grief is eclipsed by the collective suffering of the oppressed. It is a masterstroke—personal heartbreak transformed into political consciousness.
A revolutionary soul with a romantic heart
Faiz was not content to be a passive poet ensconced in ivory towers.
He was an active member of the Progressive Writers’ Movement, an ideological vanguard that championed art as a tool of social transformation.
As an editor of The Pakistan Times, he wielded the pen not as a quill but as a sword.
His Marxist affiliations were not mere intellectual flirtations. In 1951, Faiz was implicated in the infamous Rawalpindi Conspiracy Case, accused of plotting to overthrow the government.
His subsequent imprisonment, however, did not silence him.
Instead, the claustrophobic confines of his prison cell birthed some of his most profound poetry, collected in "Zindan-Nama" (Prison Writings).
From behind bars, he wrote:
متاع لوح و قلم چھن گئی تو کیا غم ہے
"Mataa-e-lauh-o-qalam chhin gayi to kya gham hai,"
(If the tools of writing are snatched away, what of it?)
کہ خون دل میں ڈبونے کے ہیں انگلیاں میں نے
"Ke khoon-e-dil mein dabo li hain mainein ungliyaan,"
(For I have dipped my fingers in the blood of my heart.)
زباں پہ مہر لگی ہے تو کیا کہ رکھ دی ہے
"Zubaan pe mohr lagi hai to kya, ke rakh di hai,"
(If my lips are sealed, so what?)
ہر ایک حلقۂ زنجیر میں زباں میں نے
"Har ek halqa-e-zanjeer mein zabaan maine."
(I have found a tongue in every ring of my chains.)
Faiz’s defiance was not loud; it was lyrical.
His rebellion was not in riots but in rhymes.
A poetic paradox
No discourse on Faiz can evade the contentious chapter of the 1971 Bangladesh Liberation War.
As the editor of The Pakistan Times during this period, Faiz’s voice—a voice that had roared against oppression—appeared conspicuously subdued regarding the atrocities in East Pakistan.
Was this silence an act of complicity, ideological dissonance, or strategic survival?
Critics argue he should have vociferously condemned the military crackdown.
Yet, some view his muted response as emblematic of a poet ensnared in the tragic contradictions of identity, politics, and patriotism.
However, even in this complex moral quagmire, his poetry hinted at universal sorrow, guilt, and loss, transcending nationalistic boundaries.
One of his late poems resonates with a melancholic ambiguity:
ہم کہ ٹھہرے اجنبی اتنی مداراتوں کے بعد
"Hum ke thehre ajnabi itni madaraaton ke baad,"
(We remained strangers despite all the courtesies shared,)
پھر بھی دیکھیں گے ہمیں دیر لگانے کے بعد
"Phir bhi dekhein ge humein der lagane ke baad."
(Yet, we shall meet again, after long separations.)
Perhaps these lines were not just about personal estrangement but reflective of the alienation between nations, histories, and selves.
An anecdotal individual of accolades
Faiz sahab’s literary genius transcended borders. He was awarded the Lenin Peace Prize (1962), an honour reflecting his stature not just as a poet but as an intellectual beacon in the global leftist movement.
His exile years in Beirut saw him engaging with the Palestinian cause, editing the Lotus journal, and mingling with revolutionaries and artists alike.
Yet, even amidst global acclaim, Faiz remained deeply connected to his roots, his verses resonating equally in dusty tea shops of Lahore and protest rallies from Cairo to Dhaka.
Faiz was not merely a poet; he was a raconteur wrapped in grace and wit.
Once, during an interview, when asked why he wrote so much about sorrow, Faiz smiled and replied: "Because happiness writes itself."
Another time, in Beirut during a particularly intense bombardment, someone asked if he was afraid.
Faiz lit a cigarette, exhaled slowly, and said, "When the heart is its own battlefield, what fear can bombs instil?"
Such anecdotes are not just charming—they are windows into a soul that was both tender and tenacious.
Time trancending silhouette
Faiz Ahmad Faiz passed away on 20 November 1984, leaving behind a legacy that refuses to be confined to dusty anthologies.
His poetry continues to be recited in classrooms, echoed in protest marches, and whispered in lovers’ rendezvous.
His verses are inscribed not just in books but in the collective conscience of those who believe in love, justice, and the indomitable spirit of humanity.
As one leafs through his poems, they find not just the echoes of a bygone era but the urgent whispers of our present:
بول کہ لب آزاد ہیں تیرے
"Bol ke lab azaad hain tere,"
(Speak, for your lips are free.)
بول زباں اب تک تیری ہے
"Bol zubaan ab tak teri hai,"
(Speak, your tongue is still yours.)
تیرا سچ زندہ ہے اب تک
"Tera sach zinda hai ab tak,"
(Your truth is still alive.)
بول کہ جِسِم ابھی تک تیرا ہے
"Bol ke jism abhi tak tera hai."
(Speak, for your body is still yours.)
And so, we speak—because Faiz taught us that silence is never neutral, and words, even in their fragility, can shatter the strongest chains.